


the way you move

by kettsinn



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Lost In Austen
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/F, Flirting, Historical Inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:43:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettsinn/pseuds/kettsinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Caroline Bingley is more persistent in The Bedroom Scene (you know the one) and Amanda finds herself being persuaded. Slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way you move

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick one. Hope you enjoy!

“You don’t get to marry Darcy.”  
  
Caroline’s eyes and mouth set in a hard line.“Do I not.”   
  
Amanda says nothing. It's strange, but she feels less out of time in this moment than previous.

  
Caroline flounces towards the door, her movements swift and jerky despite her usual elegance. She pauses on the threshold to trace her gaze up and down the length of Amanda’s body. The sheer want in Caroline’s eyes makes the delicate skin of Amanda's shoulders feel flushed and hot. She hasn’t seen anyone look so hungry for touch since Bobby Cliff at his nineteenth birthday where he ripped the buttons off her silk blouse, then proceeded to stare at her breasts for a long minute, hands twitching at his sides. It had been pathetic to watch then, but coming from this terrible, gorgeous woman it isn’t pathetic, it’s just unexpected.  
  
Amanda feels her frustration with Darcy, with the Bennets - with the whole damn lot of characters in this stupid novel - deflate all at once, like a gust of air sweeping out of her lungs. “Wait,” she says, before Caroline has chance to wander out the door. “I’m sorry. Not about Darcy, because for all that he is arrogant and contemptful and handsome, you won't get to have him. I'm sorry because...it's...you’re wrong. Your secret is not my secret. You're on your own."  
  
“Hmm,” Caroline smirks, "perhaps."

The change of topic, however slight, and the reappearance of that cunning smile puts Amanda on edge. She expected more disagreement than that. Has Caroline grown bored of going over the same old argument about Darcy? Even now it seems less like Caroline is avoiding her gaze, and more that she hasn’t finished eating Amanda up with her eyes.

  
“I enjoy the - what did you call it? The physical company of men.” Amanda continues. She feels the unwelcome urge to cover herself with her hands. An anxious feeling flutters in the pit of her stomach. “Stop looking at me like that.”  
  
Caroline’s smirk grows brighter, her eyes finally coming up to level with Amanda. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Miss Price?”  
  
"No." _Not as bloody repressed as you’d thought_ , something whispers in the back of her mind. The voice is so bloody smug and, ugh, this is too much to deal with today. “No. Go and harass someone else.”  
  
“No, I don’t think I shall.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I’ve changed my mind,” Caroline demurs and then she moves across the room. The lithe sway of her hips reminds Amanda of a documentary she saw once - eons ago - about lions stalking their pray. The swiftness of movement and the fierce look in her eyes gives this sense of a predator zooming in on its prey. Amanda steps backwards without thinking and bumps into an oak bed-post that spirals up into the canopy of green damask.  
  
Amanda’s mouth feels dry suddenly, moisture gone and words unwilling to form themselves. Caroline says nothing about this sudden silence between them, but reaches out to curl thin fingers around Amanda's wrist.  
  
"Miss Price," Caroline murmurs, "does this make you uncomfortable?"  
  
Amanda nods, but the action is too hesitant. She regrets it the moment that her head tips, but even more so as Caroline’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. It's clearly a lie.  
  
Caroline nudges the pink tip of her tongue against the dainty bow of her lips and Amanda can't help but swallow.   
  
“Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Caroline snaps, her fingers tightening their grip.   
  
An errant thought of someone pinning her down, of sliding a heavy thigh in-between her legs, rises before Amanda like a forgotten memory. Her skin feels hot, her chest flushed, a heat that spreads across her shoulders and down.  
  
Caroline smirks. “Good grief. Miss Price, you do like this.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Amanda retorts as she tugs against the grip.   
  
“Yes.” Miss Bingley’s response is rhetorical. Caroline moves then, moves closer until they occupy the same space.   
  
Amanda isn’t quite sure why she hasn’t stepped away. She’s dazed and tired, but maybe it's just because...it feels nice to be wanted. No-one here seems to touch each other. Perhaps the reason is to do with nineteenth-century manners, or propriety, or something. The meter of space between another person feels colossal at times.   
  
Especially now, when Amanda feels her pulse race and her skin yearn to touch Caroline's. The desire to reach out and make contact with the smooth warmth of Caroline grows and grows until Amanda finds herself leaning in, lips wet and-  
  
Amanda wrenches her wrist free and grabs the nearest garment from the pile on the bed. She sets to folding the - what even is this - nightgown in manic, abrupt movements as though the lace edges and cotton tucks will shield her.  “You’re projecting, Caroline. This is how you feel, not me. I care about Darcy.”  
  
“Would you rather call me by his name? My, Miss Price, you are a tease.” Caroline bats Amanda’s hand away when she reaches out for another bit of cloth.   
  
“Leave me alone. Go sling your hook somewhere else- in the opposite direction of me and catch some other woman to maul about. Perhaps Wickham can help! He’s bound to have other women who enjoy a bit of - likes the company of - you know! - on his travels. No, Caroline, stop looking at me like that. Go away,” Amanda half-yells, stepping further away until her shoulders hit the cool marble of the fireplace.  
  
“What a peculiar creature you are,” Caroline murmurs. The warm air of her breath rattles the tips of Amanda’s hair where she stands, but they aren’t touching. An inch of space between them, although Amanda’s unsure whether this distance has been kept for custom or left as a courtesy for her. “A passionate creature, too, wouldn’t you concede? I have not met your likeness throughout the society of London.”  
  
Ah. “Look. Caroline. There are other woman in Europe - in England - who would be delighted to be your partner I'm sure. But I am not one of them! I bet there are a hoard of gay women out there, waiting for you to swallow them whole or whatever. Just. It's not me."  
  
Caroline giggles. She fucking giggles, the blush-peach colour of her lips risen high to her cheeks.   
  
Amanda can't help but smile too, charmed. "I'm serious, Caroline."  
  
“I have never swallowed anyone whole, Amanda,” she says, looking completely un-serious in contrast, licking her lips as she fiddles with the corner of her hat.  
  
"Amanda?"  
  
“This is your Christian name, is it not? Given what we are to become, I assume that you will allow me to address you as such. If you do not,” Caroline’s shoulders lilt in an shrug; the gesture an anachronism, an imitation - and perhaps a flattery - of Amanda’s own body language. “Then I find I care little. Your cavalier attachment to and previous use of my own forename bids me return the favour.”  
  
Before Amanda can do more than huff in response, insulted and the slightest bit of amused, Caroline moves in and presses a dainty kiss to the middle of her forehead.  
  
Caroline sighs before Amanda has even begun to process the myriad issues with what has just happened. "I understand your disinclination to rush through this intimate matter, so I shall bid you adieu. Perhaps we may continue our discourse on this...intrigue after dinner?"  
  
"You..."  
  
Caroline pauses in the shadows of the doorway. When it becomes clear that there is no coherent end to that sentence, she lingers just to look Amanda up-and-down once more. Then she's gone. 

  
For the first time since she stepped into this ridiculous world, Amanda finds herself speechless. It feels as though someone has exploded a sherbet fountain at the base of her spine, energy rushing to the tips of her fingers then spiralling up to the nape of her neck. 

  
"What?" Breathing deeply does nothing to assuage the excited panic that flares down her spine. "Argh."  
  
Out of the bay window to the right, a pair of swallows flit out of a huge oak tree, whirling around each other.  
  
Surely Jane Austen didn’t intend to write such expansive back-stories for her characters. Amanda wonders whether they even count as characters anymore. At some point, the plot of this entire travesty ran screaming away from them all and she hasn't got a frigging clue when it'll all calm down.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a bit more to add to the ending of this fic which I might add as a second chapter later on. I'd like to find myself writing some PWP for Amanda/Caroline in the future as well. If only there was more Lost in Austen fic on AO3! xxx


End file.
